


Group Hug

by el_spirito



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt Steve, Hurt/Comfort, Team Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-12 04:06:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el_spirito/pseuds/el_spirito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aliens, again, and this time their weapons aren't quite so harmless to our favorite super soldier... Team fic with a big helping of Steve whump.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first foray into writing in over a year and a half, so I'm a bit nervous... let me know what you think!

Clint Barton has seen a lot of shit in his time, both before and after joining SHIELD, but the magnitude of the situations he wades through as a member of the Avengers is pretty impressive, even to him. Take right now, for instance.

There’s another alien invasion going down, this time in Detroit of all places, and they’re all together again. Clint is oddly excited to be reunited, which, when did that happen anyway? He’s worked with teams before but he’s never been _excited_ to work with them. If anything he’s just tolerated them. But somewhere between the chaos of New York and those subsequent missions they’d served together before going their separate ways, they’d become something more than a team. Clint would never say _family_ \- he doesn’t know what a real family is like anyway- but they aren’t just a team anymore.

Sometimes, when he’s drunk and feeling philosophical, Clint thinks that it’s because they’re all broken in one way or another, and maybe all those broken bits together can make a whole. Or something like that.

Right now though, he’s neither drunk nor philosophical, he’s just methodical, allowing instincts and adrenaline to take over as he fires off arrow after arrow, covering Rogers’ back and trusting that Rogers has his.

It’s a nice feeling, trust.

“Clint!” Steve yells, and then Cap’s shield whizzes past his face, connecting something behind him with a satisfying _clang_ before flying back.

“Thanks!” Clint yells. Cap nods at him and then soundly thwacks another alien with his shield.

“They’re starting to retreat,” Tony’s voice says over the comms. “They’re heading back toward the ships on the western edge of town. Maybe I’ll get home in time for The Bachelor after all!”

“It is because of our excellent fighting prowess,” Thor booms with a laugh. “They cower in fear!” Hulk chimes in with a deep roar.

“We aren’t done yet guys,” Steve says. “Stay focused.”

Clint grins at how typical of his teammates the exchange is- confident-bordering-on-arrogant Thor, snarky Tony, grounded Steve. And, of course, Hulk growling.

“Barton, Steve, there’s a group of a dozen or so aliens heading your way,” Natasha says. She’s camped out on top of a building- usually more Barton’s forte than hers, but she’s still recovering from a torn ACL and Rogers forbade her from being on the ground. (Surprisingly, she grudgingly listened to his order, though with more than a few glares, and that if nothing else convinces Clint that the Avengers are now a fully functioning more-than-a-team.)

“Got it,” Clint says as he and Cap automatically turn to face the coming onslaught .

“You ready?” Cap asks, glancing towards him and flashing the grin that drives girls crazy.

“Hell yes,” Clint says, pulling an arrow from his quiver. He  smiles too, lets his fingers dance over the smooth length of the arrow, nocks it to his bow and loses himself in the rhythm of battle, breathing in and out and bracing for whatever comes his way. It’s a beautiful thing, really.

And then the aliens are there and he gets into his _draw, nock, fire_ mode. From the sound of Steve’s shield clanging merrily behind him, Clint figures the super soldier is in his own groove.

It’s all going remarkably well, actually.

Then, of course, it all goes wrong in one catastrophic second. Clint has just turned toward Steve in time to see a bolt of alien ray or laser or _whatever_ it is hit him smack in the chest, dead center. The archer in him is impressed with the aim but the rest of him is horrified and he hears himself calling Steve’s name even as he runs toward him, barking into his comm..

“Rogers is down!”

Maybe he’s overreacting. Rogers is a super soldier after all, and surely he’s going to pop up any second now…

“He’ll pop up any second now,” Stark says. “Just give him a second.”

“He isn’t popping,” Clint mutters, skidding to a stop by Steve’s still form. He turns and fires another arrow off before dropping to his knees by Steve. Cap is lying face down, and he isn’t moving. At all.

With a sinking feeling Barton realizes it doesn’t even look like he’s _breathing._ Damn it. .

“Holy _shit_ ,” he mutters, pressing two fingers into Cap’s neck. Nothing. Taking a deep breath and steeling himself from the onslaught of emotion that threatens to overcome him, Barton rolls Steve onto his back. The captain’s face is peaceful and blank.

“No, no, nononono _no,_ ” Clint whispers, digging for a pulse again. Nothing. He crouches over Cap’s face, then his chest. Nothing.

“Cap’s got no pulse,” he says woodenly, then uses an arrow tip to rip open the front of Steve’s shirt. No blood, no burn, not a mark to indicate something that could have stopped Captain effing America’s heart. Clint wonders if this wasn’t some kind of freak accident.

“But- but he is superhuman,” Thor says. His voice sounds much smaller than usual.

“Even a superhuman needs a _heartbeat_ ,” Tony says. “What’s going on Barton?”

“I’m starting CPR,” Barton says, “and I need cover.”

“Already here,” Natasha says, and suddenly she’s standing above them, gun drawn. Somewhat dazed, Clint realizes she’s been there for a few seconds at least, covering them. Normally he would be alarmed at his lack of awareness, but right now he honestly just doesn’t give a shit.

He nods and takes a deep breath and then levels his hands over Steve’s chest and tries not to think about it. About what he’s doing.

“We need a medic,” he mutters, starting the mental count in his head. _–two and three and four and-_ “And a defibrillator. This won’t work without one.”

“We can’t let civilians back here yet,” Natasha says, “and SHIELD medics are still ten minutes out.”

“Too long,” Tony says. “Maybe Thor can call down some lightning-“

“Are you _seriously_ suggesting that?” Clint demands ( _and seven and eight and nine and COME ON, Steve)_ as Natasha dispatches two more aliens.

“Would that not harm him?” Thor asks. “I fear the lightning would be too uncontrolled.”

“Can’t be worse than being _dead_ ,“Tony snaps.

Barton tunes them out and focuses on the rhythm of the task at hand. It’s not so different from the rhythm of battle, just an order, a command to be followed, except that it’s his teammate. Steve has a bit of a strange spot on the team, simultaneously their leader and their little brother- sometimes it’s easy to forget that he is actually the youngest of any of them. But whatever his role is, he fits it seamlessly and maybe Clint didn’t realize how much they need Captain America in their midst until this moment.

“We need a fucking defibrillator!” He screams, abandoning all pretense of calmness. “Right the hell now!”

There’s a momentous pause and Hulk roars, and suddenly an ambulance is smashed down in front of them. Hulk roars again and then seems to look expectantly at Clint.

Clint blinks.

“Right,” Natasha says. “I’ll get the defibrillator. Hulk, cover them!”

Hulk complies with another of his grimaces that is supposed to be a smile, and Natasha wrenches open the slightly crooked ambulance door, disappearing inside.

Clint keeps doing compressions.

Natasha comes out quickly, a portable defibrillator in hand and rushes to Steve’s side, dropping to her knees and tearing open the bag in her hand.

“Clint, let me, just a second-“

She reaches around his hands and presses a pad to Steve’s chest, above his heart, then a second on his left side.

“Okay,” she says, and Barton continues the compressions. Natasha presses a button on the AED and Clint stops as the machine reads Rogers’ pulse.

And then advises a shock.

Natasha looks to Clint and then presses the button. It isn’t dramatic and jolting like in the movies, just a tiny, minute jerk, but Steve still isn’t moving and the AED blurts out in that painfully high voice that the compressions need to continue.

 Suddenly the exhaustion of the whole situation seems to catch up to him and Barton realizes how damn tired he is. But Steve needs him, so Clint dutifully gets into position to start again.

“Let me,” a voice says, and then Bruce is there, taking over with precise movements.

“I don’t- but- the aliens?” Clint stutters.

“Taken care of,” Thor says, and Clint hadn’t even realized he was there.

“But- how long?”

It feels like it’s been hours. Lifetimes.

“Ten minutes,” Tony says.

Long enough for there to be permanent damage. Long enough for there to be very little chance of Steve coming back from this.

“They’re…”

“Gone,” Tony reaffirms. “And you look terrible.”

Clint doesn’t bother answering and watches instead as Banner continues doing compressions.

“Bruce?” He says quietly. Bruce looks up and makes eye contact, shakes his head once, then looks back down.

“Damn it,” Clint whispers.

Natasha brushes past him and with a start Clint realizes she had returned to the ambulance.

“Nat?” He says.

“Adrenaline,” she answers, and Clint finally notices the handful of items she is carrying. She tears one open and hands it to Bruce, who levels it over Steve’s heart and then gently presses it through the skin, depressing the plunger before pulling it out again and resuming the CPR.

“Shit,” Barton mutters. “I should’ve- I should’ve thought of that as soon as the ambulance got here.”

“Don’t start, Barton,” Stark says. “Don’t. You did what you could. One little oversight-”

“That _oversight_ could’ve just _killed_ Steve!” Clint barks. He’s starting to get fired up now, can feel the helplessness and rage growing inside him. “And I-“

“Don’t be so dramatic Clint,” Tony snaps, eyes alight. “Rogers is going to be fine.”

The vehemence with which he speaks is enough to cut Barton off midstream.

“You don’t know that,” he says quietly.

“Hell if I don’t!” Stark says. “You think Stars and Stripes is going to let one little alien keep him from his sworn duty to protect America’s citizens? Not a chance.”

“But-“

“Not. A. Chance.”

They stare at each other for a long moment.

“Got a pulse!” Bruce cries, and Clint blinks, then looks toward Steve. Banner is sitting next to him squeezing an ambu bag over his mouth with a look of utter relief on his face. Clint’s bones turn to jelly and he slides to a sitting position, legs extended in front of him.

“Holy shit,” he says, wiping a shaking hand across his mouth. “Holy _shit._ ”

“Told you,” Tony says, but Clint doesn’t miss the slight quaver of his voice, nor the relief in his eyes. Thor lets out a strange sound from the back of his throat that sounds like a cross between a growl and a sigh, and Clint notices that Nat briefly presses a hand to Steve’s shoulder, closing her eyes.

“He will be alright?” Thor questions, looking to Banner.

Bruce inhales deeply, then exhales audibly.

“He was down for a long time,” he says finally. “And he still isn’t breathing on his own. He’s got a long way to go before he’s even in the vicinity of ‘alright.’”

Bruce’s honesty is startling, and more than a little disheartening and Clint almost wishes he would have just said everything was going to be fine.

“But he’s alive,” Natasha says lowly. “And that’s something.”

“Yeah,” Bruce says, “that’s something.”

 They hold onto that thought as Steve's still form is loaded into  helicopter, SHIELD medics swarming around him. And then he is gone. 

  


  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's in a coma. The team's coping best they can. Which is to say,they're not, really.

Steve’s in a coma. Which seems to actually mean that a normal person would be dead, but he isn’t normal, so until he wakes up-or doesn’t- they don’t actually have any idea if he’s okay or not. 

The blast from the alien weapon paralyzed where it hit, stopping his diaphragm, lungs and heart. Banner says there’s some damage to his heart, probably from the oxygen deprivation. They all hope, of course, that the serum will take care of that, but they don’t know if it’s too late or if his brain is damaged…

It’s far too many uncertainties and they aren’t able to do anything about any of them. 

Helpless is not a feeling they’re used to. 

“So,” Tony says. They’re all sitting in a private waiting room trying to process what they’ve been told, still sporting scrapes and bruises and dirt smudges from the day’s battle, though all of them   
have long since changed out of their battle uniforms. 

“What should we do now?” Thor asks, his voice uncharacteristically subdued. 

“We wait,” Bruce supplies. “But they won’t let all of us in at once, probably one at a time.” 

“Then we take watches,” Natasha says. “Besides, it’s Captain America. We can’t leave him defenseless. I’m going first.” 

Her tone doesn’t allow for argument, and no one tries. 

“And the rest of us?” Clint says quietly. 

“You can come back to Stark Tower,” Tony answers. “We can try to keep busy.” 

Clint scoffs under his breath and Thor sighs heavily. 

“I do not like waiting,” he grumbles. “It has always been a particular weakness of mine.” 

“I can imagine,” Tony says, smiling slightly at the Asgardian’s honest- if obvious- admission. “Unfortunately, that doesn’t change our current circumstances. I could probably rig up a camera in his room so we can watch him, but beyond that…”

Thor shakes his head. “I believe spying will be unnecessary,” he says, “and as you say, will not change our circumstances. No, I will wait.” 

“Alright,” Natasha says, standing. “I’m going.” 

She stands and walks away and the others pretend they don’t see how her hand shakes. 

xxxx

Steve looks pretty normal, considering. His hair has been brushed into its normal old-fashioned style, the swoop of his bangs lying just over his eyes, which are shut as if he’s sleeping. His skin is pale, almost translucent and there are shadows under his eyes. Worst is the tube connected to a ventilator that sneaks out of his mouth and that indicates he still isn’t breathing on his own. There are so many tubes and wires surrounding him that Natasha doubts for a second that they all have a purpose and are maybe just there to make her, and the others, feel like there’s still a chance.

Natasha watches a nurse come in and check on something and then leave, then approaches Steve’s bedside. She looks at him long and hard and tries to memorize every detail- because she sure as hell isn’t going to allow this to happen again. 

She sits in the chair at his side and pulls her knees up and wraps her arms around them, and then she watches. And waits. 

xxxx

Bruce volunteers to take the second watch. When he enters Steve’s room, his first view is, of course, Steve, still and pale, but almost right away his gaze is drawn to Natasha. She’s in the chair at Steve’s bedside, literally squatting in the seat. She looks like she’s perching and she doesn’t appear to be blinking. She’s just. Staring.

Bruce clears his throat. 

“Uh, Natasha?” He says. 

“Yeah?” She says, eventually. She doesn’t look at him. 

“Are you… are you okay?” He asks quietly. 

Finally, she turns toward him. Her expression is carefully blank. 

“I’m fine,” she says. She allows her gaze to drift toward Steve again and her face shifts, becoming almost angry. “He’s the one who isn’t.”

If it were someone else, Bruce might have said something placating like ‘he’ll be okay’ or ‘he’s strong, he’ll pull through.’ But they don’t know if either of those things are true and Natasha would see through them in a second. 

So instead, he just says “I know.” 

“The nurses think he’s hot,” she says eventually. “They blush when they look at him.”   
Bruce doesn’t say anything, but raises an eyebrow and shrugs. 

“I’m pissed,” Natasha says quietly. 

“At the nurses?” Bruce questions. 

“At him,” she answers. “I hate him.”

Banner can practically see the unspoken words hovering in the air between Natasha and Rogers- for getting hurt. For making me care. 

“He’ll- he’ll be okay,” Bruce says finally. Maybe a lie is what they both need to hear right now. 

“Yeah,” Natasha whispers. “Yeah.” 

She stands up and moves toward Bruce. Bruce smiles unconvincingly and then, without thinking, wraps his arm around her shoulders. She stiffens under his touch and then relaxes. She doesn’t cry, but takes a few deep breaths.

“I don’t hate him,” she says into Bruce’s shoulder. 

Bruce doesn’t answer. 

“I don’t,” Natasha repeats. 

“He’ll be okay,” Bruce whispers. 

Natasha nods, then pulls away. 

“Thanks,” she says. “I’ll, uh, see you around.” 

“Yeah,” Bruce says, settling into the chair still warm from Natasha’s body heat. He glances at Brue and notices something he didn’t before. 

“Natasha?” He says, holding up Rogers’ hand. The nails are bright pink. With sparkles. 

Natasha pauses in the doorway and grins. “I don’t hate him,” she says. “Still pissed at him though.” 

Bruce returns the smile. 

Steve will be furious when he wakes up. 

xxxx

Thor wears some of the clothes that Jane picked out for him rather than his usual Asgardian fare to the hospital. The last time he visited someone with his armor and cloak he’d nearly given an elderly woman a heart attack. He still isn’t comfortable in the frustratingly restricting clothes, especially jeans, but Jane says they make him look sexy, so perhaps they aren’t all that bad. 

When he gets to Steve’s room he finds Dr. Banner sitting in a chair by the captain’s bedside, reading aloud from a large book. 

“And showed their terrible claws till Max said, “Be still” and tamed them with the magic trick of staring into all their yellow eyes without blinking once.” 

Thor frowns and tilts his head to the side. 

“What are you reading Doctor?” He asks. 

Bruce looks up at him and smiles tiredly. 

“Where the Wild Things Are,” he says, holding up the book. “It’s great.” 

He hands the book to Thor, who flips through the pages with interest. 

“This one resembles the Bilgesnipe somewhat,” he says, then nods. “It is a good book.” 

“Yeah,” Bruce says. He rubs a head over his head and sighs, then looks up at Thor. “How are you, Thor?” 

“I fare well,” he says, holding up a vase of flowers. “Jane suggested I bring flowers. So that when Captain Rogers awakens he will be cheered.” 

“Good idea,” Banner agrees. Thor notices, though, that there are many bouquets scattered about the room. He moves one from Steve’s bedside table and replaces it with his own. Bruce smiles. 

Thor stops fussing with the flowers and looks at Steve for the first time. The captain is still and pale and Thor has to swallow deeply. There is something different about seeing a human in such a state, even one as strong as Rogers, as compared to the people of Asgard. He’s not sure what it is, exactly, but it isn’t pleasant, and he has a brief pang of worry for Jane. He doesn’t regret becoming the protector of Earth, not ever, but sometimes it hurts in unexpected ways. 

“How is he?” Thor asks quietly. 

Bruce sighs again. He seems rather weary. 

“He’s started taking some breaths by himself, so it seems the paralysis is wearing off and they’ll hopefully have him off the ventilator soon. And they’ve done some more tests on his cardiac function; his heart has already healed from whatever damage it sustained.” 

“That is… good?” Thor asks. 

“Yes,” Bruce says. “It’s good.” 

“I sense there may be something you are not telling me,” Thor says after a moment. Banner looks down and then nods. 

“Everything looks good that we can see, but, well, it’s his brain we’re worried about now.” 

“Ah,” Thor says quietly, just a breath of air. A perfect heart is nothing without a brain to accompany it. 

“He is a warrior,” he declares eventually. “He will heal and he will awaken. He simply requires time.” 

“My thinking too,” Bruce says, standing. He gestures to the wall in front of Steve’s bed, where he’s largely written the date. 

“So he won’t be confused,” he says, smiling wryly. “When he wakes up.” 

Thor nods. “I will make sure the others know.” 

“Thanks,” Banner says. 

Thor settles into the somewhat small chair that is still warm. He surveys the flowers, especially the bouquet he brought, then the large numbers. 

Steve will feel remembered when he wakes up. 

xxxx

“Hey big guy,” Tony says, walking into Cap’s room. Thor looks up from where he’s been reading and smiles. He’s folded into a chair that looks like it’s meant for people half his size. 

“Tony,” he says “How are you?” 

“Fine. Nice skinny jeans.” 

Thor shifts uncomfortably. 

“They are quite…restricting.”

“So, why do you wear them?” Tony asks. He can guess, but it’s always fun to make Thor squirm. 

Thor reddens. “Jane likes my butt in them.” 

Tony stifles a laugh, then quickly quiets. 

“How’s Rogers?” 

Thor looks at Steve appraisingly, a faint smile on his lips. 

“Well, my understanding of human biology remains somewhat limited, but he is no longer on a ventilator, which I understand to be a significant step in the right direction. He still shows no sign of   
waking up, however.” 

Tony looks at Steve- he’s only got a nasal cannula now, and he isn’t as pale as when he was lying in the middle of the street. So, progress. 

“He’ll wake up,” he says. 

“Yes,” Thor agrees. “He will.” 

“Thor? Is that People magazine?” 

Thor looks down and then holds up the magazine that was in his lap. 

“Yes,” he says. 

“Why are you reading that?” 

“This magazine claims to have a list of the most beautiful people in the world. I am aware that it is unlikely to be entirely true, but it is a place to start.” 

Tony raises an eyebrow and Thor smiles, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. 

“I am trying to find a date for Heimdall.” 

Tony snorts. “Heimdall?”

Thor nods. “Perhaps Angelina Jolie?” He asks, holding up a picture. “She is charitable and kind. And beautiful.” 

“And taken,” Tony says. 

Thor doesn’t even hesitate. 

“Not to worry, I’ve found another.” He flips a few pages. “Oprah!” 

Tony just shakes his head. 

“She is smart and kind, and funny. Heimdall is too serious.”

“You should ask him about it,” Tony says, nodding. “I’m sure he would want to go on a date with Oprah.” 

“Probably,” Thor says. “I have also been searching for a candidate for Steve, but…” 

“But what?” 

“I am not certain there is anyone good enough for him.”

He actually seems rather downcast about it, and Stark finds himself confused, not for the first time, by the Asgardian. 

“Thor. Why are you doing this?” 

“In Asgard, they say that love is one of the most powerful forces in all the universe. And I think that perhaps our captain could use a powerful force. Maybe it could help.” 

Tony nods. He wants to say something snarky, but something in Thor’s sincerity steals the words before they can escape, so he just nods and swallows around the odd tightness in his throat. He wishes he could have the faith –or the naivety- to believe in something like that. 

“But,” Thor says after a moment. “I do not think this is the kind of love Steve needs after all.” 

He stands and pulls a folded picture out of his back pocket. It’s a shot someone snapped of them eating at the shawarma place a few weeks after New York and posted on Instagram. In it, they all look happy and relaxed and close. 

Thor carefully tapes it next to a whiteboard where the date is written in Bruce’s handwriting. 

“This is so he won’t be confused when he awakens,” Thor explains. He taps the picture then nods at Tony before leaving the room.

Stark slips into the seat vacated by Thor and looks at the picture. 

Steve will know that he is loved when he wakes up. 

xxxx

Clint doesn’t want to go into Steve’s room. He really, really doesn’t. But, it’s his teammate and his friend, so he sucks it up and squares his chin and walks into the room. 

Steve looks a lot better than he had the last time Clint saw him. Of course, the last time Clint saw him he was dead, so not saying much really.

Tony is sitting on the seat next to Rogers’ bed, holding a tablet in one hand and a hand of cards in the other. 

“Any fours?” He asks Cap, then puts down his own cards and looks at the cards Barton only now sees were on Steve’s lap. 

“Still no. Damn it.” 

“Bored?” Clint drawls. Tony doesn’t look up as he draws another card, then flicks something on his tablet. 

“Bored? Hell, this is the most fun I’ve ever had with him,” Tony says, finally looking up. Clint isn’t the most sensitive guy in the world, but he can tell that Stark is lying through his teeth. Classic defense mechanism, but Clint is too tired to call him out on it. 

“Mmm,” he hums with one eyebrow raised. 

“Mmm?” Tony echoes. “You doubt me?” 

“Yeah,” Clint answers. “I do.” 

Tony sighs and wipes a hand over his face, abandoning the cards. 

“He’s so damn irritating and sincere and perfect all the time, like a damn robot. Hell, even JARVIS isn’t as perfect as Steve Rogers,” he says after a moment’s thought. “But he grows on you, doesn’t he? Fuck, now even the thought of the team without him- I mean, then it’s not even a team anymore.” 

Barton nods. 

“He really is a hero,” Tony says quietly. Then, without looking up he adds, ““You breathe a word of this to him and I will see to it that you’re forced to go to one of Banner’s conferences on anti-electron collisions.”

Clint narrows his eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would,” Stark counters. “Of course, this is all based on the assumption that he’s going to wake up and give you the chance to tell him.” 

They’re quiet for a second because Tony’s right and Clint doesn’t know what to say. 

“So according to soap operas, coma patients can hear us, and it helps when they hear familiar things.” 

Ah, Clint thinks. That explains the Go Fish. It’s the only game Steve knew how to play before Clint and Tony tricked him into playing strip poker with them. 

“I made a pretty great mix of some of Steve’s favorite music,” Stark continues, looking pointedly at Clint. “I suggest you listen to it no matter how awful the music is. On loop. It’s for Steve, after all.” 

Barton raises an eyebrow. “I’ve gotta take one for the team, huh?” 

“Put yourself on the line,” Stark confirms with a nod, rising from his chair. 

“Damn you, Stark,” Clint mutters as he sinks into the chair and the first notes of “Mister Sandman” drift from the iPod Tony has set up. 

“You know you love it,” Tony says, then claps a hand on Barton’s shoulder and leans close. “Besides, it can get pretty quiet in here. Wouldn’t want you thinking too much.” 

Barton mentally winces. So maybe his feelings of guilt aren’t so well hidden then. 

“And you,” Tony says, turning to Steve and smacking lightly at one of his biceps, “look after him, huh?” 

He taps a picture of them that someone’s taped to the whiteboard and offers Rogers a mock salute as he heads out the door. 

Damn, Clint thinks. If any of them show half of their emotions, Rogers will know they need the hell out of him when he wakes up.

xxxx

Fury isn’t surprised when he hears about the unofficial protective order the Avengers have established around Rogers. He doesn’t bother telling them that he’s already got the entire 14th floor of the hospital on lockdown. That’s not why they’re really here, and they all know it. 

It’s been three days. It’s a fucking publicity nightmare, and it seems like America is waiting with bated breath to catch any update on Steve’s condition. Fury lets public relations deal with it, says ‘no comment’ when reporters shove a mic at his face, and threatens anyone who wants to go near the rest of the team. Captain America may be the hero of the nation, but Steve Rogers belongs to his team. 

Barton is the one who’s there when Fury shows up. He has music playing- Fury cocks an eyebrow when he realizes it’s Bon Jovi. 

“Bon Jovi?” He questions. Clint looks up and shrugs one shoulder. 

“He’s got a pretty eclectic taste in music,” he says. “Guess he got to pick and choose from quite a bit of stuff.” 

Fury shrugs in agreement. He looks around the room. The staggering amount of cards and flowers coming for Steve have all been taken to his apartment (after being thoroughly scanned of course) so his hospital room is fairly boring, really. The things that have been put up, though, all speak of the camaraderie of his team. 

The man himself is still and calm in the hospital bed, looking far too much like he did when he was frozen for Fury’s liking. Steve’s one of his agents, hell, one of SHIELD’s best assets, but Fury has felt a protective streak a mile wide since hauling his ass from the ice. 

“I thought Hill tried to get you in on the Berlin assignment?” Fury remarks casually. 

Clint snorts. “I told her to fuck off.” 

Fury rolls his eye. “Of course you did.” 

“Wasn’t going to leave,” Barton says. 

He would’ve been a damn liability anyway, his focus shot to hell. Fury may only have one eye, but he isn’t blind. He can see the guilt eating at Clint.

“Look, Barton,” he says. “You did everything you could out there. If it wasn’t for you he’d never have even made it to the hospital.” 

Clint huffs out an angry breath. 

“Are you shitting me? When did everyone get a freaking psych degree? I’m fine. I did what I could, I know I did what I could, I’m fine, end of story.” 

“You know, most agents aren’t ballsy enough to talk to me like that.” 

Barton glares but doesn’t turn to face Fury. 

“I’m fine, end of story, sir,” he hisses, then wipes a hand over his face. “I’m- Look, I’m sorry, it’s just all of… all of this.”

“It’s okay. You look exhausted, Barton. Go home and get some rest. I’ve got the next watch.” 

Clint blinks in surprise. “You’re taking watch?” 

“That’s what I said,” Fury says. 

Clint ponders that for a moment before shaking his head. 

“I’m staying here,” he says. “For a while longer.” 

“Fine, but on one condition. You shut your eyes and get some damn sleep.” 

Clint opens his mouth. Fury glares at him. Clint closes his mouth. 

“Fine.” 

Two minutes later Fury’s in the chair Clint had occupied and Clint’s sprawled on a cot that Fury had commandeered. 

“Well Steve,” Fury says, once he’s sure Barton’s asleep, “you’d best wake up soon, son. Got a lot of people worried out here.” 

The first chords of Bridge Over Troubled Water start playing and Fury nods in contentment, settling in for a long wait. 

Rogers is gonna wake up sooner or later, and he sure as hell isn’t going to feel alone. 

xxxx

Fury’s long wait ends up being only a few minutes. It’s almost anti-climatic. 

Steve’s breathing changes ever so slightly and his fingers twitch, then shakily come up to his face, about to go for the cannula. 

“Hey Captain, leave that alone. You need it.” 

Rogers’ brow furrows and then he blinks his eyes open, slamming them shut again at the light. 

“’Th hell?” He slurs. 

“You’ve been asleep,” Fury says, then curses himself when Steve’s eyes fly open, widening with unrestrained panic. “But only for a few days. Gave everyone a scare though.” 

He gestures to indicate Clint’s sleeping form. 

“He okay?” Cap whispers. His voice is raw and scratchy. 

“Just tired.” 

Rogers closes his eyes again. “Let ‘im sleep,” he murmurs. 

Fury allows a half-smile. Typical. 

“Good to see you back, Rogers,” he says. 

“Good to be back,” Steve answers. He looks fuzzily at the flowers and the date and the picture of the team, then frowns at his fingernails. He holds them up for Fury to see, his face screwed up in a classic what the ever living hell face. 

Fury shrugs and Steve sighs, then smiles as he closes his eyes again. 

“I’m beat,” he says. “Might just rest for a bit.” 

“Rest well. We’ll be here when you wake up.” 

“Mmm,” Rogers mumbles, then drops off to sleep. 

Fury will tell a doctor soon, will wake up Barton, will tell the others. But, just for a moment, he lets himself revel in the rightness of the world and watches Steve sleep peacefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out waaay longer than I wanted. And probably the team wouldn't be allowed to have a round-the-clock watch but they're the Avengers and they do what they want. Also, in my head-canon, Fury almost becomes a semi-father-figure to Steve.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve's released from the hospital the day after he wakes up. He's planning on calling a cab when Clint and Bruce show up.

"I'll just go home," he says when Clint asks where he's going. He's confused by the look of frustration on Clint's face and the matching raised eyebrows from Banner.

"It's got heating, I've got food, what's the problem?" He asks.

Clint huffs out a breath and shakes his head.

"Nah. You're coming to Stark Tower."

Rogers frowns. "I'm fine, got the all clear. You don't need to watch out for me."

"We're a team, Steve, it's what we do," Bruce says, his voice level.

"Yeah, well, look how well that turned out," Steve snaps. He wishes he could take it back immediately, watches as Barton's face pales, then hardens.

"Fuck you," Clint hisses. "Do what you want."

He storms out of the room and Steve drops his head.

"Damn it," he mutters.

"You scared him," Banner says. "All of us, actually."

"Sorry," Steve says sullenly.

"Don't apologize for that. You couldn't have helped it. But this? This macho bullshit you're pulling? Yeah, that one you can apologize for."

"I'm not being macho! I don't need to have a team of bodyguards watching everything I do. I just want to go home and sleep and get ready to go back out there! Is that so unreasonable?"

Bruce frowns slightly.

"Okay, Steve. Do you want a ride or are you calling a cab?"

"A cab is fine," he answers. Bruce doesn't even hide the concern in his eyes, but he just nods.

"Whatever you think is right," he says, then walks slowly out of the room.

Steve sighs heavily and sits down on the bed. He knows what his teammates did for him while he was in the coma, saw the picture and heard the music, heard about the watch they'd set up- but he's behaving like an ass and can't bring himself to change anything about his behavior.

What the hell is wrong with him?

He picks up his bag and calls a taxi, sits in the backseat with his head against the headrest. He doesn't even realizes he's fallen asleep until the taxi driver, young and clearly nervous, tentatively calls his name.

"Sorry," Steve murmurs.

"It's okay, man," the kid says earnestly. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Steve answers, and fumbles the money out of his pocket. He gives it to the kid and trudges up the stairs to his apartment- damn elevator's still broken down. By the time he gets to his door he is breathing heavily and weak in the knees, and he fumbles to get his key in the lock. His apartment is freezing. He turns on the heater then collapses onto his bed.

He just needs rest. He'll feel better when he wakes up. Everything will be better.

xxxx

"He wasn't acting like himself. At all," Bruce says. "He was distant, and… kind of mean."

"Rogers? Mean?" Stark says with a snort. "The man's the most chivalrous person in New York."

"Yeah, well, he's an ass," Clint says.

"You don't think there could be some, you know, residual effects his injuries?" Pepper asks. She's come to act as a sort of motherly figure to the team when they're all at Stark Tower, and when she'd heard Steve wasn't coming, she'd been the one to call the emergency meeting they are all currently attending.

"I doubt it," Bruce says.

"He's just an ass," Clint repeats.

"Not helping," Bruce says, shooting the archer a glare.

"We could kidnap him," Thor suggests. "Force him to come here."

"Because that would go over well," Natasha says. "No, we should just leave him alone. Sometimes it takes time to get over shit like this."

Clint nods in agreement. "Sometimes almost getting killed can screw with your head," he says. "He's still an ass though."

He flips Bruce off without even looking as the scientist glares at him again.

"I do not like this," Thor says.

"Me neither," Pepper agrees.

"It doesn't matter what we want," Bruce says. "It matters what he needs."

xxxx

Steve wakes with a start, heart thudding in his ears. He runs a shaking hand through his hair, checks the clock and groans. He's only been sleeping for an hour. He lays there for a moment, hoping he'll be able to fall back asleep, but he can't even force his eyes to stay closed.

"Damn it," he mutters, then climbs stiffly to his feet. He still feels weak and just… achy. The bruises that had been on his chest from the compressions are already faded, but there is still a deep hurt in his chest. He pours himself a glass of orange juice and sits heavily at his small table, groaning as his head pounds. He rests his head in one hand and breathes slowly. Turns out that being technically dead for a while is no cakewalk even with the serum.

He finishes his orange juice and struggles to his feet, shuffling slowly into his front room. He flips on the TV and settles on some game show he doesn't really care about, wraps the blanket around his shoulders, and takes deep breaths. Maybe, if he's lucky, he'll be able to fall asleep again.

xxxx

Clint knows that they had tentatively decided to give Steve some space for a while, but after only a few hours he's more anxious than he would care to admit. Waiting has never been a strong point for him, especially when he has it in his control to do something.

He debates for a moment whether to knock at Steve's door or not. If he just walks in and Rogers is startled and in better shape than Barton suspects, he'll take Clint out with no hesitation. But if he does knock and Rogers just doesn't want to see him, the super soldier will just leave him outside.

He decides on the element of surprise, gently trying the doorknob. It's locked, of course, but Clint has his lock picks with him, and it only takes him a few seconds to get it open.

"Hey Cap?" He says quietly as he walks into the room. It's comfortably warm, bordering on hot, and the TV is on. "Steve?"

"What're you doing here?" Steve asks quietly. He doesn't look up from the TV. He's watching reruns of Family Feud. Clint raises an eyebrow.

"Checking on you. Why are you watching Family Feud?"

Rogers shrugs.

"I don't know, to be honest."

Clint sits down next to him and looks at his friend. Steve is pale and has lost weight. There are dark rings beneath his eyes. He looks awful.

"Sorry," Steve says, looking at him with baleful eyes. "For what I said. Earlier. I know you did your best, I don't blame you. Hell, it was my fault if anyone's."

Clint raises an eyebrow at Steve's use of profanity.

"I-I don't know what's wrong with me," Steve continues quietly.

"Are you sleeping at all?" Barton asks.

Rogers sighs and shakes his head. "Not for lack of trying," he says. "But I keep waking up."

"Nightmares?"

Steve doesn't make eye contact but nods slightly. His jaw is clenched and he stares down at his lap.

"Sometimes it's you-all of you- dying. Sometimes it's that I never actually- that I just- that I'm still in the ice. And when I wake up, I'm scared that it's not today anymore, it's the future, you know? Sometimes I can't even fall asleep because I'm scared I won't wake up."

Clint listens sympathetically. He doesn't know what to say, what platitudes to offer that could help Steve. Part of him wishes he'd brought Pepper. She's better at this kind of thing. Or Banner. He winces internally. Maybe this wasn't the best idea.

"It- I mean they, the nightmares, they stopped after a while, or at least I was able to deal with them, but now, I guess with this injury and everything, they just- they won't stop."

"And I'm guessing you still feel weak and all around shitty?"

Steve barks out a startled laugh.

"That obvious, huh?"

"You look like shit."

Rogers sighs. "Well, thanks for your honesty, I guess," he says.

"Any time," Clint answers. They sit in silence for a moment.

"I'll stay here," Clint says eventually. "I'll stay, and I'll watch you, and I'll make sure you're okay." He hopes that isn't as creepy as it sounds in his head and pushes on.

"And I'll have my phone, so the others can call me if anything happens. I'll watch your back."

Steve looks at him with a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude.

"You'd do that?" He whispers.

"I won't let anything happen to you," Clint answers with a ferocity that startles even him.

"Okay," Steve breathes. "Okay. I'll try."

"Here or your bedroom?" Clint asks. He doesn't even make a dirty joke. Nat would be proud.

"Here's fine," Steve answers. He looks uncomfortable, the way his neck is angled, so Clint gently pulls him over so that Steve's head is resting on his thigh.

"You won't tell anyone about this."

"Never," Steve says, his breath exhaling in a puff of air. He's already dozing off. Clint smiles and grabs the remote, turns off the TV and lets himself be lulled to sleep by the steady rhythm of Steve's soft breaths.

xxxx

Nat shows up not fifteen minutes later. Clint blinks awake and opens his mouth to say something, but Natasha shakes her head and puts a finger to her lips. She curls around Steve's other side. Rogers doesn't even budge.

xxxx

Thor almost manages a quiet entrance, but he bumps into Steve's table and sends a chair careening to the floor. Natasha almost shoots him and Clint tightens his grip protectively around Rogers. Thor grins and shrugs, then stretches out on the floor, bunching his cape under his head. Steve just keeps sleeping.

xxxx

Banner does manage a quiet entrance. None of the sleeping superheroes stir as he walks around Thor's sleeping form and lays down under the window, perpendicular to Thor.

xxxx

"This is the cutest thing I've ever seen," Pepper whispers when she and Tony walk in.

"Ssh," Tony says. "Don't wake them." He snaps a picture of the sleeping friends with his phone, then yawns and stretches.

Pepper looks at him quizzically.

"Guess I am kind of tired," Tony explains. He takes the only remaining floor space and ends up cuddling near Thor.

"Cute. You're the small spoon," Pepper says.

"Don't care," Stark mumbles, already half asleep. Pepper smiles, takes another picture, then leaves, quietly shutting the door behind her.

xxxx

Steve wakes up, heart pounding, sweat beading on his forehead.

"Hey," someone mumbles, a clumsy hand patting at his head. "You're okay."

"Huh?" Rogers mumbles, glancing sleepily around. There are people sleeping everywhere. Thor is snoring and Banner is curled up like a kitten and Natasha is on his legs. Tony is sleeping by Thor, one arm flung over the Asgardian, and that leaves Clint as his pillow.

"The heck?" He mutters.

"Shut up," Clint says, voice thick with sleep. "Jus' sleep."

Steve closes his eyes.

He sleeps.

xxxx

A/N: So this is called Group Hug because that's what the working title of the Avengers was. SO. COOL.


End file.
